


Winter

by stringsofwords09



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Banter, Drama, F/M, Family, Family Drama, France (Country), Love, Love Confessions, Miscarriage, Romance, Sexual Content, The CW, reign - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 00:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stringsofwords09/pseuds/stringsofwords09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary and Bash attempt to spark and kindle a relationship while she is married to Francis.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rated explicit, just to be safe. I think it really lingers between mature and explicit, however.  
> you can check out dianevalois.tumblr.com for updates on this story or any others.

#  1

She lingered at the end of the hall. To go on, or run back to her room? No one would see. She sent her own guards away only a few hours before. Francis was otherwise…occupied in the East Wing. She tried to forget what it had felt like, to have hope. Hope that their marriage would go beyond politics and alliances, and dip into in a bit of romance. But that dream died as soon as Olivia stepped foot back in France. 

“She is only here temporarily, when I find her a proper home, you can send her away.” But the “home” never materialized. Her allure was too much for Francis to turn away. And as they approached the date of the wedding, Olivia’s hold over Francis became iron-clad. 

Mary finally took another step. The marble floors were ice cold, and she had forgotten to put something on her feet. Sensible things, like shoes or a cloak, are so easily forgotten when you listened to whispers in the wind. She pulled her night dress close to her skin, and padded slowly down the corridors. 

Was this it? She wrinkled her nose at the sight of muddy and wet boots scattered around the entrance-way of a room.

Filthy. Although, she had to admire his sense of adventure; most of the castle was bundled up inside, not daring to go out during these wretched storms. The door was open a crack, and a dim glow radiated from inside. She paused at the opening, unsure of herself. 

_Go for it,_ she told herself, _you don’t have anything else to lose._ She pushed the door open, slowly, and winced as it made a creak. 

A pair of warm, familiar green eyes greeted her as she stepped inside the room. Sebastian’s usual stick-straight hair was dusted with snow, and it stuck out over the sides of his ears. 

“Your Grace, “ he said in surprise, “what brings you on a jaunt to my little neck of the castle?” 

His words always had a bit of lip. 

“I was…taking a walk, Sebastian. I…” she trailed off, not able to form the words that were the aching butterflies in her stomach. _I wanted to see you, Bash._

He shifted from his chair, and dumped a handful of his wet travel clothes in a pile by the bed. “You should wear something less revealing in this weather,” he scolded her, but there was a grin on his features as he spoke. Inside, her heart relaxed to his easy smile. 

Liking her reaction, Sebastian smiled again, and watched as she stood almost timidly at the entranceway. She was deciding if she should enter, he realized. He tried to stop himself, but couldn’t help and drop his eyes to her gown. It was a thin cotton thing, meant for sleeping next to your lover. Not strolling about the halls at night. In the dim glow from the fire, he could see the outline of her breasts, and the curved line of her hips. 

He tore his eyes away. “Come here, “ he told her. “I’ll wrap you in a blanket.” He grabbed a small throw coverlet from the small chair, and strode over to stand next to her. “Bash…”

He didn’t let her finish the protest, and swiftly wrapped the blanket over her shoulders. “I’ll admit, I admire the illuminating qualities of this… robe, but maybe it’s not meant for a nighttime prance among the guards in the halls.” 

“I was not _prancing_ among the guards," she chided him. But he just laughed at her. “What is so funny!” she demanded. 

He bowed to her and tapped her nose. “I chuckle, Your Grace, because it is always nice to see you riled up. Your fire is enticing in this weather.” 

She rolled her eyes, and leaned against the door, pushing it closed. She decided to just let her walls drop. Out of everyone in this castle, out of everyone in _France,_ Sebastian was the only person she could simply be herself with. Even among her handmaiden, she was always on edge. Which one would run off to Catherine or the English to spill her secrets? 

But Bash…he was always warm, and inviting, and she didn’t have to pretend to be in charge for a change. A bastard to the world, he expected nothing from anyone and was content with his lot. He walked among the palace, but it was as though he took a step back from the royals, and watched them with an outsider's eye. She longed for the days when they’d sit out by the lake, listening to each others sorrows and sipping rum. 

“I’ve missed you, Sebastian. I don’t have anyone to confide in.” Her shoulders slumped, and the blanket slid lower down her back. Bash fought the urge to stare, and instead looked at her face. Her forehead was laced with worry, and the lines looked deep. 

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I have been away on many tasks these past few months. But I thought with the first days into your new marriage it would be…easier for me to stay away. Then to see you and Francis together.” 

They had never expressed their feelings before. And what for? She had been betrothed to the future King of France, and giving herself over to someone who could never have her hand was futile. And yet, hearing him admit that she and Francis together was painful seemed to thaw the chill around her. She smiled sadly at him. “I thought you had given up on me,” she whispered. 

He took a step toward her, and the space between them was negligible. “We may have kissed but the one time,” he murmured into her ear, “but I have not stopped thinking about it. I relive it every time I close my eyes.” He didn’t mention the sting that had come when she said it was a mistake. He had always tried to forget those words; they killed the few moments of pleasure he had left. 

“How are you and Francis?” he asked her. He bit his tongue, hoping for only one answer from her. “Does he treat you…well?” 

She turned away from him and shifted the coverlet. “We are cordial to one another. He sleeps in my bed on whims every few weeks. But I gave up on those long ago. He shares a different room and bed with her.” 

“Olivia, “ he said. It was not a question. 

She nodded. “She is his mistress and I suspect she’ll give him a child soon enough. 

“And you, a Queen in your own right, will you have an heir?” 

He hated asking her these questions. It boiled his blood to think of another man gracing Mary’s bed. 

“We haven’t…” she broke off, and a tear drop made its way down her cheek. “ I mean, he is kind to me in the halls or when there are duties to be discussed. But when we are alone, I don’t exist. Sometimes, he will stumble in, after a festival, or a party. Drunk. He means to fulfill _an obligation_ but he always falls asleep in middle. And when he awakens in the morning, he doesn’t remember anything. He calls me Olivia in his sleep. I always pretend in the morning that we…”

Sebastian looked at her kindly, with no judgment on his face. She composed herself, and continued, “I act as though we… um, completed the task, and he doesn’t doubt me. It’s been this way since our wedding night.” 

Sebastian blinked in surprise. “Your wedding night?” he asked, “were the elders not present to watch your consummation?” 

“You’ve obviously never stayed for the entire ceremony. Too much for you? They leave the room in middle. In our case, Francis just kissed me drunkenly until he dozed off.” 

“So you never…”

“I didn’t know what to do,” she stated simply “I couldn’t wake him. And in the morning…it wasn’t as though I meant to deceive him. But he didn’t give me a chance to explain. ‘Did it hurt?’ was all he said in the morning. I was so surprised when I realized…I went along with it, and barely had a chance to get a word in otherwise. I was still in shock that he could not remember the night at all. But, you saw him drink at the wedding.” 

Sebastian had to smile. Yes he could remember Francis, swallowing wine at his own wedding like a fish in water. He could not blame his brother, in love with two girls, and insistent on pleasing everyone. But he had made a choice, it seemed. When the time came to decide, Francis had taken a middle, cowardly path in attempt to please everyone. 

Except for Mary. 

She stood in front him, sad and unloved, and lonely. But he could fix that. She had come to see _him._ He’d only arrived at the castle an hour ago, in the middle of the night, and yet she’d known. 

“How long can I keep it up?” she wondered aloud. “Will he one day decide that he wants me as a true wife, and not just a friend he is married to on paper? I am so far beyond that, and it saddens me.” 

_My brother is an idiot._

“Come here your Grace,” he urged, pulling her by the arm toward the center of the room. He felt her hesitate, but finally she let him steer. She paused for a second, and locked the door behind her. She ignored his look and followed after him. 

They stood near the fireplace and watched the embers. Sebastian pulled her to him, and wrapped his arms around her. Mary snuggled in close, enjoying how tight his grip was. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said shyly into his neck.” 

He kissed her forehead, and ran his hands gently down her back. She shivered against his touch. The blanket fell to the ground, but neither of them noticed. He massaged his fingers into the center of her back and she arched her back in response. 

He enjoyed the reaction he got from her, how he could make her feel nervous. During her short betrothment at the castle, _he_ always felt helpless _around her._ When she spoke to him, even in passing, Bash would have to gather every bit of strength in order to talk to her. He was not like that with anyone else. Usually, he relied on an autopilot version of himself, with a sarcastic edge. Everyone bought it. But for Mary, he needed to think more. She challenged him. He had to go out of his way to try and unsettle her. 

And now, it was as though Mary bought into his feigned confidence. Her defenses were down, and she let him hold her. 

Mary was the first one to make a move. She held his face with both her hands and looked at him. “I truly meant it, Sebastian. I’ve missed you.” She smiled widely, as though asking for permission. When Sebastian didn’t flinch, she pressed her lips softly against his, tracing his cheekbones with both her thumbs. He sighed into her kiss, and deepened it. 

“Call me Bash, Your Grace” he murmured. “Call me Mary,” she retorted. 

Sebastian smiled at that. With one hand tangled in her hair, the other firmly at the small of her back, he led her gently to the chair. He sat, with her on his lap, and wrapped his arms around her again. “What would you have us do now…Mary?” 

She bent her head and kissed him again, harder this time. He responded in kind, and Mary felt the urgency in his lips. He slipped his tongue inside her mouth, exploring. His hands tugged at her hair, her neck, and softly cupped her breasts. She ran her fingers through his hair, and down the back of his shirt. It was a loose cotton garment, still damp from the snow and rain. She tugged at the hem, trying to free the edges from his belt. 

“A queen undressing her subject?” he teased, “that seems rather unfitting!” She ignored him, and finally yanked the fabric free and over his head. She was determined, and the gesture animated him. He seized her brusquely, and carried her to his bed. She didn’t resist, and allowed him to ease himself on top of her, slowly planting kisses down her throat. 

“Bash” she breathed. He kissed her on the mouth, his hands at her hip and neck. Feeling crafty, she wrap her legs around him, and started to flip him over. He allowed it and smirked up at her, as she sat on top of him with her legs around his pelvis. “I see you wield your royal title in all matters of combat, Mary Queen of Scots.” 

She had to grin at that. 

Mary leaned down and kissed his cheeks and neck, and trailed her kisses down his chest. She felt Bash’s jagged intake of breath as she progressed down his stomach. He grabbed her, and pulled her toward him so she lay at his level, their noses touching. “Do you know what we are starting?” he asked her seriously. “I hate to give you a reason to hold regret in your heart.” 

“I already have many regrets, Sebastian.” She relaxed herself against him. “And this is the first step toward my recovery.” She smiled, and kissed him again. She could kiss him all day, she decided. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this got a bit racier than Chapter 1....  
> I was honored by the Kudos, I'd love a comment for critique :)  
> enjoy :p

#  2

They lay exhausted, tangled in Sebastian’s bed, hands and legs intertwined in a fashion; it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Mary felt delightfully weary. She shivered as Bash, showing no signs of fatigue, continued to explore, tracing his fingers leisurely over every inch of her body. His hands moved from her calves, curled behind her knee, snaked up her thighs, pinched her hips, and trailed slowly over her abdomen. He reached her breasts, his thumbs rubbing across in slow circles. He moved tenderly, kissing every spot of skin he touched. 

Their clothing, ripped off hours before, sat forgotten in a pile by the bed. It seemed like only a few moments ago she had loitered outside his door. To think standing there was delaying…this. 

How many times had it been, Mary wondered. Each time it had simply gotten better. The initiation had been slow; he treated her softly at first, and simply. Bash started with his hands and mouth, deliberately and carefully to ease her into her first time. And then it soon progressed more rapidly, her delight mounting with every movement. She could feel a vibrating throb in every spot where he’d squeezed tightly, and wondered if there would be bruises. She wasn’t concerned at all. 

She had whispered, then moaned his name, grasping at the sheets, his hair, anything, to keep from losing her head completely. Every position he tried increased their friction, and Mary thought she would simply melt away. She heard herself pleading with him to continue, and never slow down. Sebastian complied with her every request. She loved letting him take control, and feeling his weight press on top of her. But he shouldn’t have to do all the hard work… 

“Let me try,” she offered boldly now, ignoring the ache in her muscles. He allowed her to shift, and soon he was the one gasping for breath, even with the slightest of her thrusts. “My…Queen,” he groaned as they moved faster. He threw his head back, and bit down hard on his bottom lip. Mary liked unnerving him in this way; Bash could let a woman take charge. Just as she thought she could go on no longer, Sebastian gripped her hips tightly, and cried out. His entire body quivered. He snatched her by the waist and pulled her down to him, his muscles were taut and coated with sweat. Bash pressed his forehead to hers, breathing heavily. He tried to speak, but his voice was gone. His eyes spoke volumes. Mary smiled at him, kissing him lightly on the lips. 

“That was fun,” she confessed. She looked very smug. Sebastian just held her tight against his chest. She felt so soft. 

“I am honored to serve you, Your Grace,” he declared, when his breath returned. “Your rule is magnificent.” Mary curled into him, and Bash buried his face into the crook of her neck. He sighed happily. “Are you…alright though?” he asked cautiously. She laughed melodically, and Bash waited for an answer. 

“Did it _sound_ at any point, like I was in any pain?” she asked him playfully, poking his ribs.  
“Well,” he admitted, “you did scream a bit. The first time. And the second. And when I- Hey!”  


She bit his shoulder, and ducked when he tried grabbing her nose. “You were a gentleman, Bash,” she told him, hiding under the covers. Bash yanked them away and kissed her fiercely. When they broke away, she smiled so sweetly at him, and Sebastian didn’t think there was anything more divine. He grinned lazily at her, and chuckled at the “Oh!” she yelped as he pushed her to her back and slid on top. She rolled her head back, closing her eyes in bliss as he initiated the next round. 

Bash thought that it might all be a hallucination, and if he slowed down to take it all in, Mary would vanish like the wind. He’d painstakingly memorized every detail, savored every bit so he would remember later. Her skin glowed, and she was perfect. It felt right, to be pressed against her like this. And, how different she looked now then from when she’d stood coyly by his door. Happy. He wanted to please her to the point of ecstasy, until he had nothing left to give. 

“Mary…Mary….” He whispered her name repeatedly, enjoying the hum of her breathing beneath him. “Please don’t stop,” she rasped. Sebastian was more than happy to comply. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 3...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's chap 3. i'm already working on the next chap, so never fear, fellow Mash-ers :P there is more of their interaction to come. promise!

# 3

Sebastian concentrated on each muscle, every layer of skin that pressed against the brown haired beauty in his bed. She was asleep, her heartbeat thrumming sweetly against his chest. His knee embraced her thighs, his hips tingled from the feel of her soft fingers draped across. He clutched her against him, and twirled her dark tresses with his fingertips. 

The sun was just rising, and Bash was certain the cracks of light dancing from the windows were struggling to land their rays across her face. Morning. Mary would have to leave… They would have at least an hour, he tried to reason with himself. To freshen up, sneak her back to her room, start their day apart…

Mary stirred next to him, and he shuddered at the feel of her soft skin under him. Soft, brown eyes blinked open. Her eyelashes tickled his shoulder. They were long. Without thinking, he brushed his thumb across the lashes, and watched them spring back into place. Mary didn’t cringe, instead she reached out to tousle his hair. 

“Good morning,” he told her carefully. Surely she would have _some_ regrets.  
“It is a _wonderful_ morning, Bash “ she agreed, easing his fears. Mary then smiled, and glanced out the window. “I’ll have to get back soon,” she said wistfully. “But I so wish I could stay here.”  
Sebastian’s room was smaller, but cozier than her chambers. And it overlooked the forest, as if to hint to the room occupants that there was a whole world outside the castle.

“I would never make you leave,” Sebastian told her truthfully. He didn’t see how he could. She instantly made the room seem a thousand times bigger. He hated to picture himself alone in the bed, with only her scent to remind him of their night together. 

\--

“You didn’t have to walk me back, Bash.”

He chuckled at her and bowed. Sebastian was always laughing at her, and she had to come appreciate the warmth it exuded. No one ever treated her in the spontaneous manner that he did. He was always so unscripted. 

Sebastian watched her, she fidgeted at she stood at her door, her arms protectively covering her chest. She seemed vulnerable. Her hair was tangled like a dream. She looked so tempting…

“I couldn’t have someone see you like this, alone. A guard in the hall, minding his duty and you walking about in this state… The chap, he received no warning! Your move is unprovoked. I’d wager a man might pounce.” 

Mary laughed, and her arms now rested more comfortably at her sides. “Thank you, Bash. I will take it from here.” She gave him one last smile, and slipped inside her room. She closed the door gently behind her, leaned her head with a thump against the wall and exhaled. 

\--

Bash walked slowly back to his chambers. He barely slept during the night, not that he minded. But the journey back home had finally gotten to him, and he needed just a few more minutes of shut-eye. 

He entered his room, and glanced at the disarray. It was an amusing sight. The furniture was off kilter. But it was the bed mostly; it looked… worn. Wrinkles in the fabric outlined where Mary had lain. As he pictured it would be earlier, her scent lingered on his sheets. Would the maids listen if he asked them not to come by today…

Bash jumped when someone knocked on his door. “Sebastian!” a man’s voice called through the door. He opened it, and nodded at his father’s guard who bowed. This always irritated him. He was no royal. 

“Does King Henry require my report?” he asked. The servant nodded. “He is having breakfast with the Lady Diane, and requests that you join them.” 

He dined with his parents for a few hours, telling them about his travels, and the people he had met along the way. Sebastian’s trip was supposed to only be a few weeks, but he had extended it on a whim. France was too cold, and he had dreaded watching Mary play house with Francis. But, he had missed his mother and father terribly. They were King and mistress, but they had a strong, loving relationship. Henry might talk to Bash or the servants, but his body was always angled toward Diane. When the three of them were alone, King Henry dropped his act of self-importance, and they could have been just any ordinary family bonding over eggs and sausage. 

“You missed the French ambassador when you were in Spain, Sebastian” said the King. They were finally getting to the business portion of their meal. King Henry sat up a little straighter in his seat. “He was delayed by the storms, but he had every intention of making that encounter.” 

“I was told he would not show, “ Bash said, frowning at the news. “I was there a lot longer than I was to be received, in hopes of his arrival. I left after overstaying my welcome. I didn’t disregard our meeting.” He noticed his mother didn’t meet his eyes. 

Henry nodded, “I know Sebastian, but it is important that you make all efforts to make his company. If you leave tonight, you can catch him on his way to England.” 

Bash sighed. “Just when I was getting comfortable at home.”  
His father stood abruptly and glanced at him, his demeanor now fitting the crown on his head. He squeezed Dianne’s hand tightly, and she smiled sadly at Bash. “A bastard is never at home. And he should never get too comfortable.”  
\--

Mary ignored the pit in her stomach, and tried to forget the look on Bash’s face when he told her he was leaving again. “Not as long a trip, now that I have something to return to.” He told her this with utmost sincerity, staring at her mouth that night, in a small corner of the halls. He kissed her once on the lips. She could still feel the rawness on her tongue. 

The days that followed were miserable, and time seemed to slow down. Her meals were dull, and Olivia’s incessant chatter at the table did nothing to help. Breakfast the morning after Bash was gone felt chillier, even with an extra cloak around her shoulders. “I don’t want any more!” Mary heard herself bark at a serving girl, who was innocently refilling their goblets. The girl snapped her hand back, sloshing juice across the lap of an unsuspecting Olivia. The blonde gasped at the cold liquid, its icy touch enhanced in the cold room. _At least_ something _good could come out of a bad temper,_ Mary thought. She watched Olivia frantically rub at her dress, the little serving girl haplessly receiving the brut of the mistress’s temper. 

Nothing assuages a bad mood as much as spreading it to someone you despised. 

Francis came to her room a few nights later. Mary forgot that there existed a moment in time when she had looked forward to this possibility. The small window of time, when she actually hoped his heart had room for her. It had not taken long for her to realize that he came precisely once a month, solely with the intention of leaving her with child. After their wedding, he began to rely on wine to make the effort. 

Mary didn’t think he hated her. No, he was simply no longer in love. He had tried to love her, when she arrived at the castle. His heart was good, but a heart cannot be forced. He felt a duty to his country. She could not fault him for wanting, no, _requiring_ an heir to France. 

This time, he was not drunk, and Mary realized she would have to play her role unassumingly. Francis did not know they had never fully completed their obligation before. Nor did he know that she had been…practicing. Would it anger him? She did not want to find out. 

“You looked lovely tonight,” he told her. He wasn’t looking into her eyes, she deduced. Francis was looking at the spot of nose between the eyes, an old trick for saying words you had memorized. The remainder of their night was quick. Francis didn’t linger very long, and although she found no enjoyment in the task, she was grateful for the lack of pain as well. _That is all thanks to Bash._ She didn’t allow herself to think any further about Bash in middle. It seemed…unfaithful. To Sebastian. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 4 dearies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was fast, right? I had various parts floating in my head, and I realized I would lose *significant* study time tomorrow if I didn't just bang it out tonight instead. Enjoy. ;p

# 4

  
“What was that?” Mary asked, looking up in surprise at a blonde girl looming over her.  
“I _said_ you seem out of it,” said Greer, “and you’re only proving my point.”

Mary looked down at her lap as her handmaiden plopped onto an adjacent cushion. Mary felt a slight cramp in her back, but ignored it. “I’m sorry for being so distant,” she confessed. “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.” _Worrying…about being a mother one day, and a good wife and a Queen and a…lover._

“It’s alright, Mary!” Greer said, exasperated. “You’re a girl! You are permitted to be moody and off-putting. It’s when you forget that your friends _care_ about you that we start to worry.” 

Mary looked at Greer, feeling slightly abashed. Her disregard for the girl had nothing to do with being a moody teenager. It was that _Greer_ was acting strange lately, and Mary was suspicious that Catherine had something to do with it. When Kenna had started her nonsense, she showed Mary that King Henry would always be her first choice. 

“I suppose I should come clean first, My Queen, and maybe that will help you out of your shell.” Mary’s head snapped up. What was this? Was Greer about to admit to siding with her Mother-in-law? Yet, it turned out Mary had made her reservations prematurely. She listened to Greer prattle on about Leith, and felt her heart soften. 

“The kitchen boy?” she asked in disbelief. “Without a title…?” She was confused by Greer’s actions, but knew that she understood them. All her fears of Greer’s loyalty melted away. 

_I can not be upset with a girl who is only listening to her heart. I am trying to do the same._

After dismissing her handmaid for the night, Mary walked backed quickly toward her room. What day of the month was it, she wondered. She held her sides as the twinge in her back only amplified. It had started this morning at breakfast, but she had attributed it to the food. Some of the fruits and meats were imported in this insidiously frigid winter. Could it have been a whole month already? Time passed strangely inside these castle walls. 

She looked down now at her garments, and frowned at the red stains. Of course. She had stopped paying attention, as she and Francis hadn’t exactly succeeded. But now, she would have to be more careful. This was a miracle, in its own way. She was not with child, by Bash _or_ Francis. 

Francis. Well, he needed an heir, but she was not quite ready to look at a small version of the future King. He would be disappointed, of course. This time, however, she thought she would wait a little longer before she told him. Bash. She and Sebastian had no distinct relationship. It just _was._ It had been one day, barely. Would he consider it prudent to continue their liaison when he returned? His position was dire. He may be a King’s son, but she was a Queen. Sebastian could suffer… And, for all she knew, Bash was seeing women throughout all of France; Mary could not say a word against it. She had no hold over his actions with anyone. After all, she was a married woman, required to sleep with her husband. 

\--

This winter would be a legend for years to come. The snow that came down over the next two weeks sealed off nearly every exit and window in the castle. The King and Queen had the servants work day and night to clear paths, only to find a fresh layer the following morning. Not a soul had crossed the king’s road in days. When Mary overlooked the grounds from her room, she could not see a single hoof print in the blanket of white. 

The white stretch might be beautiful, if she could share it with someone she loved. 

She made her way to the common rooms, and forced herself to gossip with her handmaiden, as she did every afternoon. Mary, Aylee, Kenna, and Greer formed a semicircle on pillows. They snacked on fruit, and listened to Aylee read stories. Mary’s attention wavered, but the girls said nothing. They suspected something was off, but her presence over the past few days was finally improving, and they were grateful not to be freezed out by their oldest friend. Aylee at long last put the book away, and Mary eventually warmed to their mindless chatter. She giggled at Greer’s narratives of her escapades with Leith. At least someone was lucky in love. 

“Your Grace, I have some interesting news.”  
Mary looked up to find Lola, who stood smiling knowingly at her Queen.  
“Yes? What is it?”  
“There is word that a lone horseman comes down the king’s road. It is not confirmed, but the servants think it is the King’s son.”

Bash. Mary hid a smile, and nodded. Lola was the most perceptive one, Mary recognized. 

Mary felt dizzy until it was time for dinner. After leaving the girls to wash up, she had run to her windows and earnestly peered out at the roads. She could barely make out a white horse tied to the far stables, and small marks of a recent traveler were evident down the snowed paths. 

He was back. 

She dressed swiftly, choosing a simple gray gown, and black furs to warm herself. Mary felt scatterbrained on her walk to the dining hall, and was glad that it was Lola who accompanied her. “One day, you’ll tell us, Queen Mary, “ she whispered as they entered the hall. She squeezed Mary’s hand, and Mary felt more at ease next to her friend. Her eyes searched the crowds of people in the halls. There were many French mouths to feed in this terrible blizzard. 

It seemed incomprehensible, but even in the sea of people, Sebastian’s eyes still found hers. He nodded ever so slightly, his green eyes radiating from across the room, and turned to resume a conversation with his father. Mary felt a buzz in her chest all through dinner. She could barely contain her excitement, and didn’t even cringe when a serving girl accidentally sprayed hot rice across her lap. Sebastian brought _home_ to the castle. She watched him chat animatedly with King Henry. They looked deeply engaged in their talk, and Mary made a note not to interrupt. 

After the meal, people scattered in different directions. Lola, nodding significantly at Mary, followed Aylee and Greer for a game of cards in one of the halls, while Kenna lingered after King Henry, Bash, and his advisors. The dining area was mostly empty, save for Mary and a few maids. 

She walked outside, after spotting Prince Charles playing in the freshly fallen snow. She fingered the white fluff in her hands, hoping to form a ball of it. The snow was too much of a powder, however, and it mostly melted through her fingertips. Charles showed her how to pack it with dirt for more hold. “It gives it more power, too!” he told her, charmingly. There was a twinkle in his eye, and Mary suspected she had just entered a competition. 

“Ah, I see. Like this! I think I’ve gotten it, Charles. Now, you had better run!”

The little prince whooped, and ran from her. Their snowball fight went on for a good while. Charles got her twice in the face. He put a lot more dirt in his weapon than snow, and streaks of damp mud dripped down her front. They put a halt to the hostilities when it started to rain. She bowed generously to Charles as he went inside. “Bye Mary!” he gushed, running back inside the castle. She turned away and watched the rain pound against what had moments ago been a good foot of snow on the grounds. Mary was tempted to run out and feel it against her skin. Her dress was ruined anyhow. 

“Your Grace looks exquisite tonight,” a voice said. Mary turned to face Sebastian, her heart fluttered at the sight of him. He looked so handsome, in his maroon velvet tunic, his sword clipped neatly to the side. And his hair was so _straight,_ even when damp from the rain. It stuck up off his forehead. 

“May I walk you to get washed up?” he asked, smirking at her stained clothes. Mary nodded, suddenly shy, and took the elbow he offered her. 

\--

Once inside her room, Sebastian didn't hesitate. Mary gasped as he grabbed her and pressed her against the door. “I missed you terribly,” he said hoarsely into her neck. She could barely concentrate on his words; one hand snaked across her back and gripped her waist; the other craftily traveled under her skirts. She should end this, her head said, to no avail. “I can stop, if you want me to,” he told her, as if reading her mind. His breath against her neck was rough. Her head turned from left to right infinitesimally, and it was all the permission Bash required to carry on. 

She lost her oxygen repeatedly, his fingers reaching their mark, plunging… Mary could not begin to say in words what she was feeling, she only knew that she could not tell him to stop. Her body easily gave her away; the moisture welcomed him in. 

She felt almost drunk with the pleasure. It was rather quick, but no less satisfying. Sebastian didn’t slow down. She gripped his biceps tightly, her fingernails digging into his flesh. “Sebastian!” she moaned repeatedly. He kissed her along her jaw, and his fingertips hastened their strokes 

She trembled in his embrace, finally feeling her release. He didn’t let go, however, and continued to loosely trace his fingers between her thighs. It was just as provocative; light goose bumps trailed down her back. His other hand fumbled with her dress. The knots in her corset were tight. “I hate this stupid thing,” he muttered. Mary held back a giggle. “Try wearing one,” she told him. She turned, giving him a better view of the fastenings. 

He got the last knot open and tossed the corset aside. Bash twirled Mary around to face him again, holding her to him tightly by the waist. “We should make a secret pact,” he said in between kisses down her neck. “If I happen to come across your mind in the morning, and you find favor in the thought, don’t wear the wretched thing.” 

“What sort of deal is this?” she asked, barely able to get out the words as Bash’s lips reached her collarbone. He artfully slid the neckline of her dress down, exposing part of her shoulder. He traced his mouth down her arm, slowly tasting the skin. “I’ll know that you desire for me to visit you that day.” Bash held her firmly by the waist with both his hands, and slowly slid her up the stone wall. It was cold, and stiff against her back, but she didn’t care. “It will comfort me, knowing you stood here naked as the day you were born, yet thinking about me.” Mary let him wrap her legs around his waist. She knew what he intended, and her heart skipped a beat in the excitement. 

“I thought about you every night I was gone,” he whispered flirtatiously into her ear. Sebastian eased himself against her, and Mary felt his need against her thigh. “It was painful to be away from you,” he continued, his breath ragged. She groaned as he entered, and no longer felt the hard stone wall against her back. All she felt was Bash. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had extra time due to some Thanksgiving cheer, so here is chapter 5. I do hope you enjoy.

# 5

Sebastian gazed around the colossally sized room a dozen times, and with each moment more dumbfounded to find himself in Mary’s chambers. In her bed. In her _arms._

It was the middle of the night. They spent hours together after dinner, to make up for lost time. Talking, touching, among other things… Now, she clung to him rather tightly for someone who was presently fast asleep. She looked content, and he would gamble that she dozed off mid-smile. He slowly shifted to sit up, careful not to disturb her, rested his head back, and exhaled quietly. 

This courtship was a whirlwind. Each encounter only intensified, and he knew there was no turning back. Nor did he intend to. Bash was positively smitten with the young Queen. “It is effortless to be with you, Bash” she had told him. And he had to agree with her. They might have been together outside in the typhoon of snow, and he wouldn’t have noticed if his toes froze off. 

The complications were, however, plentiful. He could not make physical contact with anyone watching, let alone steal her away for a stroll outside, her hand in his. He could not show her too much familiarity in public. He would never call her his wife; nor gaze at her under the auspice of marriage. But, Sebastian thought he could overlook it all. If she was truly his, he would gladly take stolen glances and private nights, just to have a bit of Mary to himself. _Even if it means sharing a piece of her with my brother._

“Sebastian.” 

He turned to her in surprise. Mary must have awoken in midst of his inner reflections. “What are you worried about?” she prompted, as she sat up to rest her head on his shoulder. “Nothing,” he lied, and concealed his face with what he hoped was a mischievous grin. “Just reminiscing about some of the beautiful Spanish women I encountered on my trip. They engage in the most delicate dancing, you know. A lot of hips and breasts abound…” 

He gave her a wink, but Mary didn’t seem to comprehend that he was kidding. She withdrew from him slowly, her face almost doleful. Sebastian quickly grabbed her hands and kissed them. “Mary, I’m _joking._ I didn’t cast an eye on a single woman, save you and my mother since I first returned, weeks ago. I promise you.” 

Mary looked at Bash, into his green eyes, and now concerned, raised eyebrows. He was being entirely honest, she knew that. And she really didn’t mind his little jokes. 

“I’m not upset with you, Bash. You are free to be with whomever you desire, and whenever you please. I am saddened… because what I can give you will always remain within these four walls.” She looked around her room, which seemed so small to her. 

“My feelings for you could burn down this castle, quite literally so, yet they are squashed inside my bedchamber.” 

Bash pulled her into his arms, enveloping her tiny frame into his embrace. He nuzzled his face into her hair. “I adore you, my little Queen. And if it means that I must sneak into your room at night and show you, instead of singing it from the rooftops, then I will take it.” 

“I slept with Francis.” 

She averted her eyes, her hands now limp in his own. Bash placed his finger under her chin, and tilted her face toward his own. “Is _that_ what truly had you down?” he asked her. Mary heard a trace of amusement in his voice. 

“Does that not bother you?” she asked, rankled. Sebastian laughed out loud, “Were you expecting _jealousy?_ Mary, I stopped being jealous of my younger brother when we were eight! On the very first instance, the Queen banned him from a royal carriage ride greeting the people in town on Christmas morning. She thought he’d fall off his horse, or maybe she thought the townsfolk would knock down their future king, tarnish his pretty face, I don’t care. Whereas, the king – my _father_ – sat me on his lap as we rode the horse bareback. They don’t throw rocks at bastards.” There was no trace of bitterness in his words, however. 

“I don’t look forward to you to acting jealous, Bash, but at least you have to be angry about this! I will never fully be yours. Francis needs an heir, and I remain his Queen!” 

“Mary, my whole life, I have lived in the shadow of my brother. But I was always allowed do as I _pleased_. King Henry favors me, not because of my compelling qualities in particular, dashing as I may be, but because my mere existence reminds my father of things _he_ wanted to try as a young boy. He treasures having a son who has those freedoms.” 

Mary tilted her head, seeing him differently. _What was his choice?_

“But, it doesn’t matter, really,” he continued. “Francis could not even choose his own wife, and when faced with two women, _both_ with the potential to love him, he chose the coward’s way. For the simple reason that he has never learned how to decide. The fundamental difference between us is that Francis has never made his own choices. It is a liberty to do so, one that true royals do not have.” 

Bash kissed her lips ever so gently, and smiled. “You are in the same predicament, Mary. Your choices are as limited as my brother’s. I am not angry with you for sleeping with your husband. Because I am choosing to be tolerant of the scruples that will come between us. Bastard boys don’t get to be with royal ladies. You can’t choose me on paper over your husband, but I am undoubtedly grateful that I have this sliver of a chance to be with you, in the flesh. Let Francis have his heir. I only want you. If you’ll have me…”

Mary looked at him, almost timid at his proclamations. She nodded, her words escaping her. “Excellent!” he told her, and his eyes seemed to dance as he grabbed her to him. He kissed her again, harder this time. Mary relaxed into him and returned his kiss in kind. Bash gripped her tightly, and slid his hands up her waist to softly cup her breasts. He caressed them with his lips lightly, leaving a path of burning kisses up to her throat. “Bash…” she slowly groaned. His touch could ignite a blaze. He looked pleased at the effect his hands had on her, and she caught the thrill in his eyes.

He pulled away slightly, and smiled at her. _He can look so wicked,_ she mused, _and he can probably charm the skirts off of any woman._ “You win, Bash. Tell me about these Spanish women you played with,” she teased. “Did you get _any_ sleep on your journey?” 

“Yes, a hell of a lot more than I do when I’m with you,” Sebastian said, scooping her off the bed, and pulling her to him as he lay on his back. He tugged at her inner knees, bending them forward so she sat, and suddenly found herself straddling him. He grinned at her now, that spark of mischief flashing again. 

She laughed at his maneuver, and leaned down to kiss him. He continued to take his time, pressing her breasts together, leisurely kissing the tender skin. She felt her pulse quicken now, and had the urge to push him down and take charge. She could handle taking control. Mary dug her fingernails into his back, gliding her body down onto his. Sebastian’s pace of breath accelerated sharply, but she knew it had nothing to do with her weight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda freaked out a little, because, Kids, as I typed, there are 830+ hits on this little ditty I’ve written. That is cuhraazzzy! Honest truth: When I first posted Chapter 1, I was convinced that the first few hits were just from me obsessively opening up the story in my browser window. And I was certain everyone would hate it, or complain about my grammar and that I combine tenses when I write. Or use too many commas. I think I use waaay too many commas. Oh and “…”s (Also, I would probably write a LOT faster if didn’t read paragraphs over neurotically trying to make sure my grammar isn’t atrocious. I honestly don’t know how people write full fledged novels without becoming raging grammar lunatics. I’ll be keeping my day job, thank you very much.)  
> Please, please comment and critique, I adore reading your feedback. Even if it was “That was pretty meh!” I would be so excited for the feedback, honest truth. A part of me is convinced people open this, read chapter 1, shrug and move on to something else because they hate this. Well I hope you liked! Happy weekend!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 6  
> (um, the surpassing of 1000+ hits is RIDIC!!! I. Love. You. Guys)

#  6

You’d never have guessed they were brothers at first look, one with golden curls, the other a close-cropped brunette. But they shared a father, and by default had an inclination for a little competition. 

They stood at the door to the main courtyard, the younger quite debonair, bundled in sleek furs; the older unadorned in a worn, leather tunic. Bash leaned at the entranceway, keenly toying with his bow and arrows. Francis, however, seemed uncertain. He eyed the slick path of ice, and frowned at the icicles dangling from the tips of the trees. 

“Come _on_ little brother, we’ve been huddled up inside _all week_.” He held out his hands. “I was out building the damn target all morning, and I’ve still got all my fingers on. Let’s have a go, shall we?” He led his horse, a white mare, forward. 

The prince finally relented, and they set off to a small cornered off area, free of snow where Bash had diligently prepared an arena. Large mounds of snow blocked their view of the road as well as the castle. The wind had blown the snow into their personal sanctuary. 

Francis, his hands buried in his cloak, squinted at their marks; was it a snow…woman? A beat of a pause, and then he chuckled at the target his half-brother had so bluntly built for all to see. It was indeed a simple snowman, or rather, snow woman: there was no mistaking the two symmetrical lumps placed particularly on the center ball. He grinned at Bash, and rolled his eyes. “Did you build this with Charles, is that why he’s got frozen snot? God, if my mother would see this.” 

Bash patted the muzzle of his horse, who folded her lips back to gently nip his ear with her teeth. He laughed, and offered her a sugar treat. 

“Oh, keep your boots on. We’ll knock it down after we plug some arrows in her.” He grinned at Francis, showing off two rows of white teeth. Francis marveled at the resemblance between horse and rider. “I’d have put little rocks at the centers, to show she was cold but then where would our arrows land?” 

And so their contest ensued, the two brothers alternating their shots in sequence. The snow was packed dense, and prevented their arrows from slicing all the way through the body. “How long has she been out here?” Francis wondered aloud, his shot bouncing off where the sternum would rest. “A few hours, maybe?” answered Bash, shrugging. “She must have frozen over. An ice queen, if you will.” He fired, nailing the very spot Francis had missed. 

After a mishap where the target’s relatively large left breast exploded into shards of ice from Sebastian’s arrow, they took to aiming their shots at the head and belly of the disfigured form instead. 

\--

She ran, barely able to hold back the acid in her throat before reaching her room. She retched, tears streaming down her cheeks, as a part of last night’s dinner made its way into the wastebasket. When she finally finished, Mary sat back wearily on the edge of her bed. She had a sinking feeling, deep in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with her present illness. 

Lately, she marked the passing of time based on Bash’s return at court. She slowly counted back the days that had passed, dreading the answers she would find. 

Mary stuck to the facts. Her last monthly bleed came just after Francis visited her the month before. There was no mistaking it. It was not two or three days delayed; it was over an entire week. She had _never_ fluctuated so drastically. 

Her throat still tingled from the acerbic tang on her tongue. She ignored it. The only prickly part she could focus on now was far more ominous than the taste of bile. Her lungs seized up in the shock, and it was difficult for her to breath. She had not been with Francis since her last bleed. 

Which, could only point to one person. 

\--

They spoke of different things, cordial topics such as Bash’s voyages, and Francis’s dealings with the English and the Italians; and then switched to jovial things like their father and his whims, Queen Catherin’s latest schemes, Kenna’s newest frivolity and finally, to their own troubles with women. Rather, Francis’s women. Bash kept that topic light. He listened attentively to Francis vent his frustrations with Olivia, nodding politely when required. 

_I suppose_ I am _Mary’s mistress,_ he thought wryly. He couldn’t help but visualize her in that innocent nightdress, with her nefarious smile. He shook his head and tuned in to Francis. Apparently, his mistress was fed up with staying indoors all day – not that Bash could blame her. He had dreamed of going outside to stretch his legs for days. Today was the first day the snow ceased to come down. 

It was when the topic switched to Mary, and Francis voiced his various frustrations, that Bash recognized his relationship with Francis was about to become tricky. Sebastian listened to his brother with half a mind. Inwardly, he wondered how to continue this conversation unscathed, forcing himself not to wince audibly while his mind continued to paint pictures of Mary, but now in the same bedroom as his brother. 

He tried pretending that Francis’s Mary was a different Mary, someone distant from Bash’s life. It didn’t work. He soon realized it was better to not think of her name at all, especially as Francis kept bringing up children. 

All children were crafted the same way…

He felt his lungs constrict, but forced himself to breathe easy. He had made a concrete choice to never express anger toward Francis for how he treated Mary. Any indication that Sebastian’s purpose stemmed from something other than a concerned brother-in-law, could be deadly. 

Francis was fixated on the idea of an heir. Well, it was Queen Catherine with the initiative, but Bash didn’t bother to remind Francis about his mother’s meddlesome ways. “France needs an heir from me, and it is vital that my firstborn be destined to inherit Scotland as well.” The firstborn should not come from Olivia, was the key point. 

_Your mum is right, best that your heir doesn’t have to deal with elder bastard._

His attention wavered, but he compelled himself to pay attention. He could not afford to slip up with Francis. 

“ – and I’m having a difficult time forcing myself to sleep with her. We don’t hate each other, but there is no way around the issue. It is a chore. My wife is my business partner. Our marriage is exactly as my parents’, which is precisely what I tried to avoid.” 

From there Bash couldn’t help but revel in the irony, and compare his own relationship with Mary to _his_ parents’. _Are family cycles bound to repeat themselves?_ He wondered if the way you loved someone was inherited, like hair color. 

\--

A flash of hope. It came quickly, like lightning. The sudden realization that _Francis did not know of her last bleed._ The glimmer of a possibility… Would it pass? For now, a small enough wave of relief rushed over her, and she could finally breathe again. Maybe this was the for the best…

“Mary? Are you alright?” 

She looked up, startled to find Lola’s head poking in through the now open door. Mary waved her inside, and the handmaid came to sit next to her Queen. She took a whiff, and wrinkled her nose. “I _thought_ you looked sick earlier, and not from Kenna’s tales…”

Lola put a hand on Mary’s forehead, and brushed the damp hair away from her friend’s face. She dug out a handkerchief from deep pockets in her shawl, and mopped away a layer of sweat from Mary’s face. 

“Should I summon Nostradamus?” she asked apprehensively. 

Mary shook her head at once. “No, no. I’m fine, really,” she reassured Lola. “I just… I need some fresh air. Will you take a stroll with me, outside? The cold will do my stomach some good.” _And my head._

Lola nodded, and helped the Scot to dress up for the climate. She didn’t want to argue with Mary. She was an intuitive young woman, and knew when to hold her tongue. Mary would confide in her, in time. 

“We’ll take horses,” said Mary. 

\--

It went on, with Bash continuing to pray his wave of nausea wouldn’t show on his face. His archery skills also deteriorated as Francis prattled on about love and obligations. Bash cursed as his next arrow bounced off the target’s head. It got even worse when Francis turned the attention to his older brother’s romantic life. 

“And you, Bash? How are you faring in these waters? Listening to me carp about two, and you haven’t whispered a sound about a single girl from your trips. Go on then, distract me.” 

“What about me? No one I choose would ever be approved for a bastard. Far too royal or far too common…never just right. Like me.” 

“I didn’t realize you wanted to settle down! I was hoping for a good tale, but you’ve grown up, it seems. No matter, you’re my brother, I would support anyone you chose to be with.” 

Bash laughed out loud, the irony stabbing at his chest. He regretted his cynicism immediately, wishing he had just made up some wicked account. It was too late. “Anyone?” he goaded the young prince, “you’ll eat your worlds on that one, Francis.” 

“So what is it then, if it’s a poor girl, or a maid? Are you ashamed? You shouldn’t be! Make your choice, and it’s not an issue. They allow me and the King our mistresses, you should have your courtesy.” 

“Ah, I see now Francis,” Sebastian hedged, “my taking of some poor maid’s hand is on par with our future King taking another woman to bed.” 

Francis lowered his bow. “That’s not what I intended at all, brother, and you know it. What I meant –”

“Oh, I know what you meant.” Bash adjusted his shoulders, the bitterness eating at his fingers, and let his arrow soar. It hit the ice princess square in the face. “What if I said I desired Olivia?” He dared to hit close to home. 

“You’ve better chances with Mary,” said Francis, laughing. “Olivia thinks you’re a buffoon.” 

He had flown too close to the sun. Bash almost choked on his own tongue, and inadvertently sent his last arrow off the mark by an arm’s length. 

“What’s gotten into you?” asked Francis, puzzled, as he aimed his own shot. “You’re off your game today.” 

“Wind,” Sebastian muttered. He marched to the target to retrieve his arrows. He walked slowly back to his brother, taking the time to rearrange his face into a neutral state and resume his stance. He attempted to focus solely on the target, but his heart was pounding. Why didn’t he ever _think_ before he spoke? 

\--

“Careful, Mary,” Lola warned her queen. “The snow may have stopped, but parts of this road are coated with ice.” 

The two girls led their horses down the king’s road, enjoying the fresh air. Mary took a deep breath in with a smile, savoring the chill on her nostrils. She felt much better outside. The snow had finally taken a break, and they had not left the castle in days. The fallen snow was a sight to behold. At its highest point, it reached their knees, but there was a narrow path that led just around the grounds. 

Mary, bundled in layers of fur and wool, squeezed Lola’s hand gleefully. “It is beautiful out here!” Her earlier ailments were long forgotten. 

They mounted their horses, and started on a slow walk. Mary grabbed snow from a low tree and flung it at her friend. 

“My gosh!” Lola exclaimed, her face flushed. The snow dripped into her hair, and her curls sparkled in a glint from the sun. But she wasn’t angry. She laughed out loud, and snuck a glance at her Queen. Mary looked so happy. 

“You’ll pay for that, Mary!” Lola promised. She formed her own weapon, packing it neatly into the palms of her hands. 

Mary chortled as the snow barely missed her head. “You’ll have to catch me, Lola! I’ve been practicing this sport with Charles, so I hope you have nerves of steel!” She trotted faster, and Lola followed suit with her mount. 

\--

A miraculous interruption. A tremendous shout coming from the king’s road, an animal of some sort. Bash looked up from the target, startled, just as he fired. And was someone also yelling? 

“You missed yet again,” said Francis.  
Bash ignored him. “Did you hear that? That’s a beast in distress.”

The brothers turned simultaneously to the sound of hoof beats, as a brown gelding suddenly ran past them, making its way furiously to the stables. They looked at one another in confusion. Francis tossed his bow aside, and took off after the brute. Sebastian trudged through the snow in the other direction, leading his own horse forward. They walked briskly along the melted tracks from where the runaway horse had come. The snow reached the very tops of his boots. 

It didn’t take long to spot the culprits, he could just make out two brunette ladies far down the path. The snow was softer here, and easier to trek through. He sped up, but was puzzled at their standstill down the road. “Lola?” he called, recognizing her distinct curls as they came into view. _Is that Mary she’s with?_

She appeared to be covered in snow, but thankfully, looked whole. She almost looked like his archery target, but with less injury. 

The girls looked up, relieved to see it was Bash coming toward them. With another horse in tow, thankfully. The handmaid waved at him, beckoning him toward her.

_Is Mary really alright? _he wondered frantically. She could have slipped on the ice, or maybe the vile beast had thrown the Queen from its back…__

“Hello, Bash,” Lola greeted him, “we could certainly use another hand here. Mary’s horse had a bit of a fright.”  
“What happened?” he asked. “Are you both alright? Your horse took off past me and Francis, did an animal attack?” He said this very fast. Mary noted the panic in his voice.

“No, not at all,” Mary said, sighing. She glanced at Lola, and shrugged helplessly. “We were having… a snowball fight. And my horse got the brunt of Lola’s craft.” “It threw you off?!” he asked incredulously. “How are you _standing?_ ” 

Mary looked down at the piles of snow around her. “I was lucky,” she admitted, “the snow piles are so deep and soft this far off the road, I had a soft landing.” 

“Well, I am relieved you’re unharmed. I’d hate to return you to my brother in pieces.” He didn’t mean to sound harsh, Mary knew he was concerned for her, but Lola still tilted her head at him curiously. He brushed the snow off Mary’s cloak and out of her hair, and led her slowly to his own horse. “You’ll ride my horse back to the castle. Lola, stay with us. I’ll walk you both. Francis has gone after your horse, but he’ll want to be assured you’re alright.” 

Mary was too cold to argue with Bash’s fussing over her. She was more relieved than she showed Lola and Sebastian. She was not only taking of herself anymore. And, she thought she rather enjoyed a protective Bash. She knew it was out affection for her, but one could certainly label it a paternal instinct as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chap is crazy long. (well, for me at least). You can't tell, but there is a certain point where I just stopped editing it. I'm sorry for the lack of Mary x Bash, but I was focusing a lot more on the Francis and Bash scenes.
> 
> Also, I spent a good 20 minutes trying to figure out if there would be trashcans in the 1500’s. I don’t even know what else to say. I didn't come up with an answer. Then I decided I didn't care... This was after I brushed up on the specifics of menstruation/ovulation cycles. :) :)  
> Enjoy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter seven, finally... :P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some news:  
> I started a tumblr account, to make it easier if you wanted to follow the progress of 'Winter.' Not all my readers have an AO3 account. So follow stringsofwords09.tumblr.com if you can, I will always post updates there from now on!  
> I am sorry for delay in this chapter. I have the nastiest exam coming up, to determine if I wasted these 2 years in grad school or not, and it is sort of taking over my life. This fandom is probably my last bit of sanity, so I haven't given up on this. enjoy!!

#  7

Francis insisted that Nostradamus look her over. And so, before she could even glance back at Sebastian or Lola, she was whisked away to the infirmary. 

“Your Majesty,” Nostradamus said, nodding at Mary as they arrived to his room. He did not seem surprised to see her in the least. “News of your excursion has already spread through the castle,” he explained, behind a rare smile. He led her to an exam table, while Francis briefly retold what happened. Mary tried to ignore this, she was already very irritated with the palace’s overreactions. Francis had ordered a dozen or so guards to walk them here. 

“Into a pile of snow, luckily! I should slaughter the damn creature. Please make sure she is alright…” 

Mary bristled. She did _not_ like being spoken about as though she was a child. She allowed Nostradamus to help remove her cloak, and shake out the snow from her boots. He left momentarily to fetch some blankets and hot water. She looked around. Francis stood awkwardly in the doorway, and she preferred not to meet his eyes. The room was small, but in order. It was pleasant in that it smelled like fresh pine needles, turmeric, and a bit of cinnamon. Still, Mary sensed an ominous ambiance. She recalled Bash on the same very bed she sat now, ghastly and pale, with his abdomen torn open. 

“Lay back,” Nostradamus instructed her when he returned. Mary obeyed, scowling. The prince still lingered as she was examined. The healer tapped gently at her chest, and asked her to flex her arms and legs, against his resistance. He poked her neck, back, and belly, and felt her scalp, and finally turned to her husband. “No major harm has befallen her, Your Grace,” he assured Francis. “But perhaps some rest is in order.” 

“That is not necessary,” Mary protested. “I haven’t a scratch on me!” 

Nostradamus ignored her outburst and turned to Francis. “She will be fine with me, you need not stay nor lose sleep over this.” Francis finally relented and left, but not before giving strict instructions. “Attend to every hair on her head,” he murmured to Nostradamus, who bowed his head. 

“Mary,” the seer began, when they were alone, “you don’t have to stay here, but I think a time-out is necessary for you. Can you bring yourself to heed my instructions, if only for a night. You would do well with keeping warm and resting up. That is unless you have any other complaints.” 

“I..I - ” she hesitated, now unsure of herself. Nostradamus waited, but she only closed her mouth. 

“You are feeling like yourself, Mary?” 

“Yes, yes I am feeling perfect. Some rest…maybe that does seem appropriate.” 

She remained with Nostradamus for a little while longer. With the prince gone, he performed a more detailed exam. He was respectful, covering up one body part as he moved on to the next. He carefully pressed on each muscle, asking her to constrict and relax it, and manipulated every joint. She felt no discomfort, save for some soreness in her lower back. Then he let her rest. It was a comfortable silence, and he busied himself at his worktable, crushing herbs and mixing various bottles together. She sniffed the air appreciatively at the spicy scent. The seer lit a flame to warm his potion. 

“Do you need accompaniment back to your room, Your Grace?” he asked gently a little while later. He offered her a small goblet, filled with a heated liquid. “Just a simple concoction for pain relief. For your back. It will also help you sleep easy.” 

She accepted the glass and drank slowly. It had a zesty, yet, calming flavor. The warmth spread to the tips of her toes. She didn’t answer, and instead gazed at his tables and bookshelves. They were stacked with old, weathered volumes, their titles faded. Clay pots and glass jars of all different shapes and sizes were filled with powders, herbs, and tinted liquids. 

“Are you master of all sorts of ailments, Nostradamus?” 

He looked at her, curious. “Why, is there something else you need?” 

“No, I… No. That is all. Thank you Nostradamus. I’ll return to my chambers alone.” 

Mary exited his quarters, feeling heat as the seer’s eyes bore into her back. She took the long way through castle back to her room. 

This was her secret to carry for now, she decided. And she wanted to revel in the solitude. 

\--

Bash paced his room, unable to focus his thoughts into anything tangible. He’d been called away to grace his presence at stupid meetings all day with his father and various advisers. He was good at politics, and dealing with moronic diplomats, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. His father had the bright idea of training his eldest son into a public servant of some sort, an idea which Bash abhorred. 

He wished he could just fade away from the castle life sometimes, run amok in the wilderness. His mother was of no help either, insisting that he solidify his presence in France with something other than just ‘Bastard brother to the future King’ as his slogan. 

And then, of course, he was still roused from his morning with Francis and the excitement of Mary’s horse ride. They had taken her away, and she was probably still being cared for by Francis and Nostradamus. It only made sense, that her _husband_ watch over her. 

But it was so hard. He cared deeply for Mary, and it bothered him that he could not ensure her safety at this very moment. And Francis… the prince was oblivious to Sebastian’s flustered game, remaining too self absorbed in his own affairs to take note of the elder brother’s discomfort. 

Sometimes family was so _frustrating._

\--

_A he?_

She lay back on her bed, fantasizing about a dark-haired little boy, with shiny green eyes. He was laughing and howling, as she chased him outside in the snow. 

_Or maybe a she?_

A little girl, walking dutifully on the ice, careful not to slip. Grabbed suddenly by her father, who laughed and carried her robustly on his shoulder… 

_Or…it._

 _What would it look like?_

That made her sigh. Bash and Francis barely resembled one another. But the vital point was that they shared a father. Bash’s features could be played up to Henry’s look. And her own hair was dark, so it was not as though golden hair was a necessity… Still, there would be no trace of Francis, or Catherine. Except for the eyes. She pictured both mens’ orbs, glowing blue and green. She prayed her child would have Bash’s eyes, just so Francis’s look could appear somewhere on the little heir’s face. 

It was late. It was dark out already, to think she and Lola had been riding before breakfast… Had she eaten today? Mary could not recall much, aside from some water and herbs with Nostradamus. She was so tired, today had been long and stressful. She’d give anything to see Bash now, but knew he was the one person she could not face without blurting out her secret. 

“Mary.” 

She turned in surprise, Francis stood in the doorway. “I brought you something to eat,” he said, gesturing to the small silver tray he carried. Mary smiled at him; they may have their difficulties, but Francis still had a tremendous heart. 

Francis took in his wife, and for a fleeting moment remembered why he had loved her, not so long ago. How had it come to this? 

They sat gently at the foot of her bed, Mary eating her dinner silently, and Francis staring at the floor. She was afraid to speak. Not that she couldn’t tell a lie. She had developed a fair political prowess in her time in France, and she knew hiding her status could be a breeze. The problem was Mary was unsure how either man would handle the news. She needed time to sort the details, plan her approach… 

“How are you feeling?” he finally managed to ask. 

“I am feeling fine, Francis. Nostradamus kept his word.” 

“Yes, yes. You keep saying so. But I am concerned, as is Nostradamus. We agree that your state is different today.” 

She was taken aback by this; the two had been _discussing her?_ Francis must have recognized the disgruntlement on her face, because he held up a hand. “Mary, you are my wife. Whatever differences we may have, I still care about you. Perhaps sleeping alone tonight will not suffice. I can stay. Or Greer, Lola, or –” 

“Francis, stop. This is not about my fall. I am doing just fine…” 

“It is me, then.” 

She looked up at him, into the eyes he shared with his brother. 

“If it is not you physically, then it must be cerebral deficit. You are angry at me, or saddened at the very least. And I’m sorry, truly sorry for that. Talking it aloud today with Bash made me realize... I am acting like a child; ignoring you, leaving you to subsist here alone.” 

Mary didn’t even hear him ramble on his apologies, all she could process was that now Francis _and Bash_ had ‘discussed’ her. Was everyone talking about her today?! And just like that, Francis wanted her to be happy? This was going on long enough. She needed to grab hold of the situation, before things got out of her control. 

“I’m sorry how it has been, and I plan on- ”

“Wait. No, Francis, listen to me. You have it all wrong. I am not sad! I needed time to myself, to reflect.. You see, I am with child.” 

He froze, and then dropped his hands to his sides. He looked stunned, his mouth shaped into a small circle, eyebrows raised and buried in his locks. Suddenly, Mary wished Bash was here. So her child’s father could be the first to know… And then Francis’s mouth slowly curved into a smile, and she knew it reached his eyes. “You’re pregnant!” he whispered, almost to himself.

\--

A walk to ease his mind, maybe the frosty wind would help. Bash stuffed his feet into boots, and threw his cloak around his shoulders. He had barely taken two steps away from his room, when a servant approached. 

“Prince Francis seeks you out, my lord!” Had the windows not been reinforced from the storms, Bash imagined the young man’s shrilly tone would have shattered glass. How young did they recruit them anyway? 

“Yes, where is my little brother? Grooming the horses?” 

He followed the lad, until they reached his brother. Talking with King, it seemed. “Father,” Bash acknowledged, “and Francis.” He bowed his head to both. He was never one to bend the waist, unless formalities were in open court. 

“Sebastian!” said Francis. “Come, we have to talk. It’s about Mary.” 

_Is she alright!_

He swallowed his words. “Ah yes, how is she…?” 

They walked quickly through the halls, before Francis spoke. He placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, and whispered. “You have to do something for me, Bash. Something important.” 

Bash straightened, “Yes, of course, anything.” 

“I need you to keep an extra eye on Mary for me.” 

Bash was confused, had something happened when Nostradamus treated her? She appeared healthy. Or was it the English? He hated the uncertainty, and hated even more than he could not demand answers. 

“Francis, I will make sure our young Queen stays as far away from the stables as possible. I trust she will not be made our newest Master of Horse?” he grinned at the prince, but Francis didn’t regard his jests, and shook his head. “It’s not about the fall. Bash, listen to me. She is carrying my child.” 

And there it was, the crucial bit of information. Bash watched the words leave Francis’s mouth, and slash mercilessly into his throat. He could not speak, his airway had given up. His brother, oblivious to Bash’s pain, continued, “We have to keep this to ourselves. Father agrees. Mary still has many enemies, and they would stop at nothing now to harm her and the child. I am asking you to watch over her, when I cannot.”

\--

He roamed the castle now, not noticing where he was going. His mind was numb, his senses dull. He had thoughts. Anger, love, sympathy, rejection, abandonment, acceptance... But he could not bring himself to think, or let himself feel anything at all. To feel was to let the pain in, and expose the giant puncture in his chest. 

Her door. _Damn legs._ Was he paying any attention? He stared at it, the light glowed from underneath. He could hear her, moving about, tinkerings of glass, and her delightful humming. She sounded breathtaking. Finally, after delaying it for too long, he pushed the door ajar. And there she sat, on the floor, of all places, hunched over a pile of marbles. She was a funny little pup. 

“Mary.” 

She looked up, dropping a marble in surprise. It rolled toward Bash, and he knelt to pick it up. “You have an interesting past time, I see.” 

“Bash,” she smiled, her sweet grin patted the wound in his chest. “I’ve _missed you._ What brings you here?” 

“My brother… Prince Francis has asked me to keep an eye on you,” he said slowly, watching her. She looked confused. 

“For what? I am not a doll.” There was that stubborn chin. 

Bash sighed, this was not going well. “After your recent incident with the bucking horse, and since you are currently in a …fragile state, your husband thought it best that you be escorted at all times.” He said this rather stiffly. 

Mary looked at him, as realization dawned on her. “My fragile state…He already told you?” she asked now, exasperated. “Bash, I did not mean for you to find out this way. I promise!” 

“Mary…” 

_He looks heartbroken,_ she thought sadly. But why… _Ah._

“Bash,” she whispered, comprehending. Could he hear the desperation in her voice? He had to understand! “You have it wrong.” 

“Wrong, you say?” He blinked at her in surprise, forcing his feet over to her side. He could see the top of her scalp, and on a cheerier day knew he would have commented about looking down her shirt. 

“You are Mary, Queen of Scotland, and now Queen to the future ruler of France and Scotland. Perhaps England one day. I am your guardian, and I – ” 

She cut him off, planting her lips on his, and grabbing his hands. How good she felt... The marble dropped on the floor, but they ignored it. “You,” she told him, pulling his collar tightly, and burrowing herself under his cloak, “are finally jealous of something, but you’re being stupid. I am not carrying Francis’s heir.” 

Relief washed over him, and he grabbed her face. He was still confused. “What is it, then? You lied to Francis?” _Was she playing games…?_

“Sebastian,” she whispered now. “I _am_ with child. But it does not belong to Francis.” 

_Oh._

“You’re...sure?” he asked, after a moment's pause. He was beyond dumbfounded. “I mean, of course you would know, I didn't mean, I…” he trailed off, the words mangled in his throat. Today was a terrible day for proper sentences. A bizarre day; the turmoil, the ups and downs. He might need a drink, and soon. 

_His_ child? 

“You think I am having a secret affair with your other brother now, Bash?” Her voice sang to him, provoking him. He forgot what it was like to be on the receiving end of her playful side. It was so rare, yet perfect. "He is truly a delight, but perhaps not suited for me." She held his neck tightly. 

"I hope, at the very least you are not angry, Bash. Because I am happy. I was not at first, but the joy, it has its way of sneaking in." 

“You have come to terms with this,” he told her finally, his voice breaking, “you had time, time to process… I believed, for the past hour that it was Francis’s child, for God's sake. I don’t mean to rebuff you.” 

She nodded at him, her brown eyes doe-like and consenting to his assertion. “You can take all the time you need,” she told him. “I will grant you that luxury.” 

He thought back, to a morning only a few days earlier. _You were mistaken before,_ he told himself. Mary may never be his wife, and he would likely never marry anyone at all, but now he was going to be a _father_. 

‘Uncle’ would still suit him, of course. His child would have the best of both his fathers, Bash decided. If it was a boy, the little prince would learn how to be a ruler from Francis. But he would learn how to be a good bastard from Sebastian. Maybe even a bastard who would be King, and call France his _home._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and Bash. oh, what else? ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go

# 8

\--

Bash removed his coat, and his boots, so the only sound in the room was of his soft steps, pacing to and fro. Mary, an amused smile on her face, sat watching Bash as he meandered throughout her room. He was deep in thought. She could almost see the inner mechanics of his mind, furiously toiling away. He was not angry, or upset, but his determined face was, well, comical. 

Finally, he plopped onto the seat next to her, angling his torso toward her, his hands in his lap. “I hope I’m not worrying you.” 

“No!” she said with a short laugh, “I find it entertaining. There isn’t much that riles you up this way. But now, that I’ve bound you to me with my witching ways, it is only expected.” 

The Bash-gleam was finally returning to his eyes. He reached out, placing his hand daintily over her abdomen. “This is so strange,” he said, more to himself. “Sometimes I find it outrageous that I, well, people, can even do something like this.” 

She laughed again, harder this time. God, he adored her laugh. It used to be so rare, but these past few weeks, it lingered in the air as his personal white noise. “It certainly is like magic,” she told him. “Men as the magicians, and we women as the volunteers to carry out your witchcraft.” 

“Our witchcraft,” he told her. “Half of this little bugger will be me, you know. I do apologize in advance, by the way.” He patted her stomach. “But this one is going to be a handful. I was a terror of a child. Still am, I suppose.” 

Mary snorted. She covered his hand with her own, and let him go on. 

“It was strange, hovering outside your door earlier. For a brief moment, I remembered you coming to my room. A little over a month ago, in a similar state. We are drawn to each other, it seems.” He raised his eyes from her stomach, and looked at her now. “I wonder if anyone will realize it is not my brother’s? I’m sure you’ve given it thought.” He tilted his head, looking off to the side now, contemplating. “If it’s a boy, probably around the time he learns to walk. I kicked many girls in my days. Or perhaps even at the crawl.” He laughed. “I also grabbed at those girls, have that in common with the king. Maybe, don’t nurse in public? There is my child rearing lesson of the day.” 

Privately, Mary began to hope for a girl. 

“What about the looks?” Bash asked her now. “If it looks too much like me? A boy especially, a miniature version of myself?” 

“You share a father,” said Mary. She eyed him, he was beginning to look more like himself. Confident and reliable, with a touch of his jovial cynicism…

“True,” Bash agreed. “I suppose I am just lucky Francis has a similar eye color as my own, maybe even a nicer shade. Can’t say I’m jealous of those blonde curls, though. I absolutely cannot pull that off.” 

Mary rolled her eyes. It was tough to be irritated with his proclivity for irony, even in the seriousness of any predicament. She appreciated his using humor to lighten their moods. It was always a welcomed reprieve when he made her laugh, even now with their future, and their countries’ future, growing slowly in her belly. 

Sebastian continued, his demeanor now unflappable. “There’s no doubt, when it shows how uncompromising and bolshie as a mule it can be, that your family is represented as well. In the kindest way possible, of course.” He bowed his head. 

Mary narrowed her eyes at him. “Excuse me, but I am _not_ stubborn!” 

“Yes, of course you’re not,” Bash continued, not heeding her ferocious scowl. “One day, I shall bring the young lad – or lass – into this room and point out that wall over there, near the door way.” 

“Why?” she asked curiously, momentarily forgetting her annoyance. 

He ignored the question, and winked at Mary. “Maybe I’ll bring you as well, we can stand near it and show the young one how, precisely, he was conceived.” He gave her an evil grin. “Would make an illustrious narrative, I’d say. And - OW!” Bash recoiled backward as Mary smacked his forehead with her shoe. 

“That’s going to leave a mark, my Queen.” 

“Good! Remember it, and maybe I won’t have to demonstrate to my child where, _precisely,_ I murdered his ‘Uncle’,” she told him crossly. 

Mary reached down to place it back on her foot, her glower unremitting. Bash rubbed his head, looking thoughtful. He surmised that his perpetual attempt to anger her was just a ploy to catch a glimpse of her dazzling fury. Her rage always burned brilliantly. 

“I’m sorry, Mary,” he told her solemnly, doing his best to absorb all trace of humor from his voice. “I don’t mean to belittle the weight of your – I mean _our_ – quandary. Perhaps I rely on my sarcasm a touch too often as a means of getting by.” 

Mary closed her eyes, and then exhaled loudly. “Oh, I forgive you, Bash. Sometimes, I think you just want to get a rise from me. But I think I can tolerate it from you.” Her anger always drifted away, rather easily. With Bash, Mary long ago discovered a revolting offense: that she could make the most atrocious of sniggers. Somewhat similar to the snort of a pig.  


\--

And so they sat, talking for hours. Playing marbles, passing secrets, and confiding their fantasy lives, lives they would never lead. Bash, to live out on the sea and never bend the knee for any country; Mary to chop firewood, feed her chickens, and be a farmer’s wife. It was silly and fleeting, but they had a kinship in their places as outsiders in France. They also spoke of their lives as children. Which were similar in their peculiarity – she was a queen among nuns at a convent, he was a commoner in the company of royals at his father’s court. 

It was getting very late. They lay curled into one another on the floor, books and marbles scattered about. Mary yawned, and squirmed against Bash; his leather tunic was beginning to be uncomfortable. “Can you get rid of this cow hide?” she asked, shoving at his torso, “I’m starting to sweat next to you.” Bash laughed and flicked at her pearled headband. “Are you asking me to take off my clothing so soon, little one? I thought you were tired of me from the past few weeks, rather, aggravated? But if you insist…”

He allowed her to smack his shoulder, and then shifted to put the requested space in between them. He sighed dramatically. “The abuse I take from my Queen. France owes me a great debt.” 

“Does your wit work on other ladies, Bash? I’m starting to find you irritating.” 

He looked at her, pretending to be wounded. He held his hand in mock disgrace against his heart. “You are my queen!” he declared loudly, “So, command me and I’ll do whatever you please.”  


\--

Mary liked that for all the enthusiasm Sebastian displayed in the removal of her clothes, he had never once torn a single garment. It was an art, really. She pressed herself firmly to him, enjoying every exploratory touch. He always handled her like a rare object, that would not remain in his possession for much longer. He was a bit more gentle than usual, and his hands kept lingering protectively at her stomach .

Sebastian kissed her desperately, his hands snarled in her hair. For all the stubbornness she put on, here she was, giving in and molding herself to him. She was tightly against him, sighing in content. Bash loved how forceful her grip was around his neck and arms. She was strong. And the site of her beneath him, her mouth parted and eyelids fluttering closed... She would whisper “Bash!” repeatedly, and it motivated him. 

”You know I don’t believe I’ve ever said it…” he said now, his body slowing. 

”Why did you stop?” she asked, winded. “Is... is something wrong?” Bash kissed her deftly on the mouth. “Nothing is amiss. I realized that I never told you something, something very important.” He paused, moving aside a lock of hair from her cheek. “I love you, Mary. I just love you.”

She laughed, as she always did when he spoke. _Am I even awake?_ he wondered. 

”I’m not an idiot. And of course I knew that already. I’m not blind, even if I grew up with the nuns. And, I love you, Bash. Always.”

Bash kissed his queen’s neck, his revered spot. Her skin, porcelain and delicate, looked perfectly iridescent in the flickering candlelight. He pulled the covers around them tighter, and focused solely on the sound of Mary whispering his name.  


\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope it was worth the wait?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the horrid delay. I will not do that to you for chapter 10, a pinky promise.

# 9

\--

It was the small things that subtly reminded her. Her sense of smell, for one. She was ridiculously aware of the manure around the stables, merely by stepping outside. It reached a point where she could no longer go riding without heaving. Then there was her peculiar appetite: was it typical to crave mustard at breakfast? And her weight… the sleeves of her more fitted dresses were just a little too tight. She had to shy away from all her corseted dresses. 

She tried to ignore the slight pang in her belly now; what was even supposed to feel normal? There was no one to pose her questions to. 

It was early morning, and she scrunched her nose now at the wardrobe, trying to pick out a decent gown. Getting ready used to be a non issue; every dress she had was custom to her frame, each one more exquisite than the next. She could pull out any at random, Greer would fix her hair, Kenna would match the jewels, and she was done. Now, both girls were bravely attending to their hearts, and there was no damn dress to wear. She pinched at the wobbly fat under her arms, and sighed. 

_I feel like a cow_. 

Mary looked down at her stomach, still unassumingly flat, and glared. Couldn’t the little tyke stay away from her slim arms? It was a silly nuisance, she knew. It made her think of the charming father… If Bash were here with her, he would just laugh at her “predicament.” He’d brush away the dresses, poke at her arm fat, and tell her to go outside in a sack. And a crown. 

She straightened up. “I’m just overreacting, as usual,” she said out loud, but with poise. 

“Most probably, yes.” 

She nearly dropped her pile of tight clothing. “Bash!” she squealed, her pulse racing. In surprise, or excitement? _Both._ The scoundrel stood at the foot of her bed, having slipped inside discreetly, like a little mouse. “Hello, Mary.” 

“You frightened me!” 

Mary laughed as he seized the heap of dresses away from her to chuck them all messily onto her bed, and yank her toward him. Her eyes trailed to the door, slightly open a crack, and extremely unlocked. “Bash…” she pushed her arms against him, and shimmied out of his grasp. “Maybe now isn’t the time?” 

“Why the hesitancy?” He leaned down, his lips meeting hers, and her arms went limp. But he considered her caution. “You know, we don’t have to worry about you getting pregnant,” he noted. Her face began to contort, but he grinned back at her widely, almost as though eagerly welcoming her retort. 

She grit her teeth, and smiled sweetly instead. “Oh ha, ha, ha! Did anyone ever say you were funny? They’re liars, all of them.” 

“That hurts, deeply.” 

She was thrilled to see him, was the real truth. He’d been gone all night, and all morning. Francis had ordered Sebastian as her main guard, night and day. But he was granted some time off, and still had his usual duties with the King. He yawned loudly now, and Mary gave him a pointed glance. 

He gave her a look to match right back. “What?” 

“You were sleeping _forever,_ how can you possibly be tired this morning?” She made her way to her bed, and began to sort through her now rather wrinkled array of clothing. 

“Actually, I was laying down with my eyes closed for much of the night. Not much sleep was done there.” Bash dropped down onto her bed with a heavy sigh, and watched her work. 

“Well, what do you do when you can’t sleep?” Mary was not much of a quiet thinker; if she couldn’t sleep, then she had to get moving. 

“Ponder life’s problems? I may have solved all of France’s crises. My father will be pleased.“ 

“Really? Maybe you can come work for Scotland.” 

“I already put many good hours into Scotland, protecting her crown.” 

He was smiling at her, and Mary mulled over a sleeveless pale green gown. “Well, your charge is currently not fitting into her dresses. It’s a political scandal, they whisper.” She held the gown up to him. “What do you think of this one?” 

“The fashion woes! I’d take that every day, over listening to these droll Englishmen whine on and on about their imports and exports. Oh, and the fattest man among them you’ve ever seen. Our butchers could use him to feed all of France ‘till our next blizzard.” 

“You’re handling it pretty well, from what Francis and Henry discuss at every, single, meal!" she rolled her eyes; the meals were so boring lately. "Not a wink of sleep, but I hear the English adore you. ‘Sebastian has the sharpest wit in all of France,’ they say. ‘Where have you been hiding him, Henry?’ they ask. And you don’t even have to raise your butchering sword for this admiration. Okay. What about this?” She held up a similar fabric and styled dress, but in a medium blue and with flutter cap sleeves 

He was not going to acknowledge the compliments, she just knew it. “I have an excellent grasp at restraint, thank you. And I’d go with the first one, the green. Matches my eyes.” 

Bash sat up and grabbed one of her dresses out at random, a pink and red gauzy number, holding it to his chest. “What do you think; too drab?” 

Mary snorted, and put away the last dress in her wardrobe. “So tell me, how else do you pass the time when you’re trying to fall asleep? Are you counting the English?” 

“They’re big in size, not number,” he corrected her. “Last night, I successfully traced my life story from age nothing to about twelve. Recounted many of my critical moments.” 

“I see. Anything I should know?” 

“Hold off your mockery, Mary. You’d be surprised what you’ll recall when you cannot fall sleep. Did you know that when I was about ten, Francis slipped horse dung into my breakfast? Don’t worry, I clobbered him.” He sighed wistfully at the memory. “What I’d give to do it again – Mary!?” 

A wave of nausea had washed over her as her nose reminded her of the stench lingering near the stables. She gripped her stomach and leaned over, feeling another spasm. “Are you alright?” Bash asked, alarmed. He sat up straight and alert. 

It finally passed. Mary sighed, and sat down near him on the bed. “I don’t know… I wish I had someone to talk to about my pains. I don’t know what is to be expected, with all this. Nostradamus, sure he knows things, cures and the way of the body. But I want someone who has been through it. There’s Catherine, I _suppose_ but – ” 

“Catherine is not the only mother in the castle you can turn to, Mary.” 

“Who…? Oh.” She forgot, sometimes, that Bash was a bastard son. He was referring to his mother. Mary paused, uneasy at his suggestion. “The two of you don’t really know one another, that is true. But my mother is an astute woman, of all matters. My father does not keep her around as a play-thing. She is loyal.” 

“But to you,” Mary pointed out. 

“Loyalty to me will extend to you, Mary. My mother loves my father. Yet when he married Catherine, she insisted he spend every night with his new wife. He needed an heir. Even after I was conceived, and crawling around the castle, she demanded he respect his wife and give her a son. Diane knows how this works, what role everyone plays. She is not a stupid woman.” 

“And she –” Mary paused mid-sentence, and looked down at herself in disbelief. Bash looked up from the gown, and jumped up as she suddenly cried out, and held her sides. 

Mary cringed, her eyes squeezed shut; the pain so razor-sharp, it incapacitated her. Bash could tell that she was clenching her teeth, with the skin around her jaw pulled taut. The color had drained from her face. These were not normal pregnancy ailments, something was terribly wrong. 

“Are you going to be ok?” he asked, feeling powerless. He stood by her now, but how to help? 

_Is it from the baby?_

His child or not, Mary was suffering right before his eyes. 

“I don’t know, I don’t know! It hasn’t been this bad before.” Mary whimpered painfully, holding her sides. “It is excruciating...” She was very pale, and he could hear her sharp intake of breath with every word. “I think I’m going to…ugh!” She gripped onto her bed frame, and Bash held her by the shoulders as she retched onto the bed sheets. He didn’t want to even look at what came up. Hopefully, vomiting meant she would feel better. 

Mary finished throwing up and slid to the floor, resting her head against the bed. A sheen of sweat coated her forehead. She didn’t feel any better, however. But she did feel a wetness at her feet and looked down slowly, in horror. Hearing her gasp, Bash followed her gaze, and just stared in shock. There was a small pool of blood at her feet. 

“Don’t move,” he cried. “I’ll get help! Guards!” 

But there was no response. Sebastian exploded out the room, ignoring the looks he got from some of the maids. He spotted Mary’s guards lingering in middle of the hallway. 

_Idiots! They should be near their Queen!_

“Why are you lingering out there, away from your Queen!” he roared. They looked at each other in surprise. “Mary is ill, she needs help! 

“My lord – ” 

“Just find Nostradamus!” he snarled at them, and the two scurried away faster than one would imagine heavy armor would permit. 

\--

They moved her swiftly in to Nostradamus’s chamber, two guards with Sebastian falling closely behind. Mary’s skin was ghastly white, and the seer could see smears of blood lining the corridor they had carried her through. 

“Lay her down, gently,” he commanded, and the men quickly complied. 

The doors opened once more, and Francis burst inside. “I just got word,” he panted. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know,” whispered Bash. 

It was all so abrupt, one minute they were laughing, and now… 

Mary lay on the table, merely inches away from the men as they whispered in apprehension to one another. Yet their words seemed so far away. Nostradamus forgot about privacy, and ripped away the bloody mess of her clothing. She didn’t even notice. “Mary,” he murmured to her softly, “I’ll have to examine you; I can ask them to leave.” She had never heard such kindness in his voice before. A servant poured some water into her mouth. 

“Go on,” she said, in a daze. The brothers looked at one another. 

“Francis. Bash. Please, if you’ll step out?” Nostradamus voice was low, but authoritative. The men conferred amongst themselves quietly, as the young servant mopped Mary’s forehead. “But the child – ” Francis was arguing. “They have to take care of _Mary,_ Francis,” Bash countered. “Give him breathing room, to work!” 

Soon, the crowded space held only four occupants: Nostradamus, another palace doctor, the young servant, and herself. She sensed, no she _knew_ that her child was no longer with them in the room. 

Emptiness twisted into every facet of her mind, sinking sharp claws into her thoughts, pressing coldly against her face. She felt the ache deep in her teeth, like a terrible brain freeze; it was hard to speak or cry out, else the hurt would pulsate even more. And she was hollow. How long ago had it been, when her worst problem was tight sleeves? 

The doctors wouldn’t need an anesthetic. She was already numb. 

_I am a shell of a person._

\--

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be so sad :(


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I’m sorry for this ridiculous wait. This chapter is supposed to be longer, and I have a lot more of it written, but I was a little stuck on the end. I decided to split it in half, so chapter 11/10b will be up really soon. You can wait, and read them together or have this now. I’m posting this part now, because I told you guys it would be ready, and I feel awful for not keeping that deal.

#  10 

\--

 _“He called me an_ imbecile, _Bash, in front of every French ambassador at court. They looked at me, like I was something to cut down!”_

 _“And when you are their King, they will remember how boldly you looked back at Father, and took it like a man. Not a child. His methods may be painful, but when you rule France, you will thank him for it.”_

 _

“You thank him every day, I’d bet. Did you get to go riding this morning? Sometimes I wish we could switch places, for just a few hours.” 

“No, you don’t. Yes, I was out riding, but there was no destination.” 

They were family, always. And Francis leaned heavily on his older brother’s even-tempered approach to everything. The bastard knew their father like no one else, save perhaps Diane. And when the King took his lessons too far, Bash was there to reassure his brother, and remind him that King Henry was molding Francis into a proper king.

_

\--

“Do you think –“ Francis began to say now, his voice unsure, “maybe she – “ 

“I don’t know,” Bash interrupted harshly. Francis kept quiet. 

Bash didn’t budge from his chosen spot on the stone floor. He sat with his back against the wall, slumped, his knees bent, and hands curled into tight fists. The fingernails dug into the skin, but he didn’t notice. He ignored Francis, who paced the hallway with an increasingly furious gait. The prince was hopeful at first, but was soon snapping brutally at any servant who had the misfortune of passing by. 

On a regular day, when life had a semblance of the norm, Bash would have put the little shit in his place. But it was not any other day. 

Nostradamus and another castle doctor were the only ones with Mary now, inside the seer’s chambers. Bash stared straight ahead at a lackluster, brown wooden door, his eyes fixed on the crack under the door, where light and shadows danced, hinting at movement inside. 

The brothers did not speak to one another again for the remainder of the wait. What words would lend themselves to the occasion, anyway? 

And so it took _hours._

Footsteps hummed through the ground. Bash and Francis looked up as the door to the room finally creaked opened. The seer looked from brother to brother, and Bash tried to ignore the blood stains dripping from his robes. 

“She will be fine,” Nostradamus said to them guardedly, his voice gruff. “She lost a lot of blood, but we intervened in time. There are consequences, however.” 

“I’m glad you were there, Bash” Francis exclaimed, raising his hands to his scalp, his fingers kneading through his hair. Bash nodded in utter relief, and felt a wave of cool ease. He released his fists, and looked down. Dried blood caked his fingernails. He'd felt no pain. _Mary is alive!_

“And the baby?” he asked softly, biting his lip so not to liberate the dread in his throat. Was that the consequence? Nostradamus was always so cryptic. The seer didn’t say anything, and the other doctor soon appeared in the doorway next to him. “My lords, I am terribly sorry, but - ” 

“But WHAT?” Francis snapped, his demeanor now drastically different. “Couldn’t you save the _child?_ The baby… my heir…” 

“Your Grace, I am sorry, but there was no child to save. When the body is not ready for the pregnancy, if there is any error…” 

“There was no _error,_ you crackpot physicians! Almost three months she carried that child, with no evils at any turn. She was perfectly healthy!” 

But Nostradamus remained absolutely calm where Francis was livid. “This is not an evil, from Mary or yourself. These happens more than you would think, as a natural method of ending the pregnancy before more harm can be done…” 

“I want to see her,” Francis demanded, “and find out what happened.” He tried to push past Nostradamus, but the seer wouldn’t have it. “She needs to rest…!” Francis tried shoving him out of the way, but that was when Bash snapped back to reality. He abruptly stood, grabbing his brother sharply by the back of his shirt. “Francis! What are you doing? Mary needs to recover. You can bully her later!” 

“If Mary was sick, she would have told me. Let me through!” He tried shrugging off the tight grip, but Bash yanked him backward. Francis flew through the air, landing hard on his knees by the wall. Bash was startled at his own strength, but didn’t apologize. “You would torment your poor wife?” he asked severely. “After she lost her child, you would interrogate her, as if she did this on purpose? Have you completely lost your mind?” 

Francis got to his feet slowly, a bit shaken. He wiped himself off, and looked to his brother, surprised to see the bastard’s face look so stiff. It always came to this, didn’t it? Sebastian keeping him in check. “Yes, Bash. I’m sorry. Maybe I should cool down. I will go, and see Father now. But I want to hear when Mary is awake.” 

He walked away, and Bash felt a stab of guilt in his chest. He knew Francis was torn over this, thinking the child was his, a future heir. But he ignored it. There was no time to dwell on it now. 

He turned to Nostradamus, his voice shaky. “Is he she really going to be ok? Don't lie to me.” 

Nostradamus’s eyes trailed after the young Prince, kicking as he walked away, until he was just a small dot off in a far corridor. He looked back at Bash and sighed. “She is awake now, Bash. And she wants to see you. Only you.”

\--


	11. Chapter 11

#  11 

\--

Mary watched the crack under the door. It was a little trick Bash taught her once, to look for changes in the shadows. You would know when someone was coming. She waited for his familiar silhouette to materialize in the doorway. She didn’t have to wait long; there he was, quiet, with expressive eyes, his rumpled hair a welcoming sight. 

“Hello,” he said. His voice was hoarse. 

“Bash,” she said, so simply, it killed him. How did she manage to say his childish nickname in her royal tongue, elongating the vowel to an elegant title? And she looked so very peaceful. He expected anger, or grief. Now he wondered if Nostradamus had even told her yet. 

“Do you…” But he trailed off, hesitant to put the question in to words. She motioned him closer, and walking those few steps toward her pale face almost broke him. 

“Your Grace,” he tried again. She slipped her hand into his. 

“I always tell you,” she said, exhausted, “to call me Mary.” 

“Mary…” 

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Bash. I’m not fragile.” 

_Aren’t you?_

She was a frail little lamb, with her tiny frame wrapped in drab grey blankets. Her skin was so white, and almost translucent. Most of her hair was pulled back, but one sweaty lock was plastered to the side of her face. 

How could she still look so ethereal, at a time like this, Bash couldn’t help but wonder. He hated himself, for seeing her beauty now. And for feeling relief that she was alive. But the wait in the hallway, the hours of desolation when his mind kept thinking that Mary might not make it... The idea even, that their baby was gone, hadn’t quite sunk in yet. It was starting to creep up on him now. The guilt started to consume him. 

“Do you think,” asked Sebastian slowly, his voice like gravel, “that this was our punishment. For – ” 

“No.” Her answer was so final. 

“You’ve already entertained the idea, then?” 

Her eyes were rigid when she answered. It scared him. “I refuse to believe that something as wonderful as what we have could be regarded as anything but a blessing.” Her tone was harsh, but she squeezed his hand tightly. 

“Our wonderful little guy,” Bash choked out, squeezing back. Mary nodded sadly at him, but she looked almost distant. There was a piece of her not in the room. He wanted so badly to wrap her in his arms, and promise to take care of her. If she wanted children, by the dozens, he would do it for her. He was a terrible person, feeling elation that his Mary was alive. But it was enough of a good feeling to keep him grounded and not feel the full weight of depression. Mary didn’t have that indulgence. 

She sat up, slowly, and Bash heard her painful breathing. “Lay down, Mary, you shouldn’t exert yourself…” But she ignored him, and sat to rest her head to his abdomen. It was a strange embrace, and Bash found he had nowhere to place his hands. He settled on patting her head with one hand, and pushing away her hair with the other. 

Mary looked up at him. She was concerned about him, he realized. And that wounded him. He couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. “Mary! Please say something. I just want to fix this, fix everything! And take away your pain. If we had never… If I…” 

Her lip twitched, but she didn’t speak, so he kept on speaking. “I did this to you, and I will have to live with that. It was our child, but I at least have the luck of having you here, alive!” 

“But I have you, Bash. And you have lost as much as I.” 

And that was the essence of Mary, wasn’t it? Suffering beyond any measure, and choosing to cast her eye instead on the closest creature also in pain. 

“How can I make it better?” he whispered, kneeling by her bedside now. Her cheek rested in his palm. 

“Stay a little longer?” she said back softly. “And make sure I don’t lose myself completely.” 

They sat together, for a long time, in silence. 

\--

He wanted to help her. But how? What could he offer? When Mary was having pregnancy woes, his first thoughts were to bring Diane, who’d undergone the labors of pregnancy. Could the same idea apply now… 

Bash wandered the castle in a daze, his mind so set on Mary’s face, he almost tripped over a tiny Prince Charles. 

“Hi Bash,” said the little one shyly, shoving a handful of leaves in his face. “I’m looking for flowers for Mary. To make her better. But there’s too much snow outside. Will these do?” 

Bash chuckled at the boy’s sweetness, and sniffed the bunch dramatically. “Smells wonderful, Charles. I’m sure Mary will appreciate it.” 

Charles nodded, “Good. My mother thinks I’m being silly.” Bash ruffled the boy’s hair. “I bet she does,” he answered thoughtfully. 

\--

The rest of her visitors came in groups of twos. Which was understandable. They were afraid of visiting her alone. Bash knew how to let her just be, his presence gave her the strength to go on and meet her visitors. He was the anchor that kept her mind from fissuring completely. 

And she was thankful he was first to comfort her. Bash warned her in advance that Francis was in a ‘mood’. The prince was accompanied by his father, who was surprisingly empathetic. Henry murmured words of compassion, as his wife lost children very early in their marriage. He hugged and kissed her, whereas Francis watched them in silence, stiff as a board. He didn’t say a word, but held her hand before they left. 

Her favorite visitors were Prince Charles, and his little brother. They came in, so very timid, and holding hands. Charles handed her a small dried bunch of flowers tied together with twine. “One of the nice cooks in the kitchen gave it to me,” Charles whispered. “They’re flowers, from last Spring!” His voice became more courageous as he spoke. “Can you believe it, Mary? Flowers can survive the cold Winter, just by keeping them dry!” 

Mary put them on the nightstand. 

Next was Aylee, with Greer. Greer was quiet; she had never known tragedy in her life. Lola knew about death, but Greer was too shy to ask her about it. So in the end she chose to come with Aylee, who was stronger than most of them even realized. Mary could see the questions on Greer’s face, and the pain on Aylee’s. 

Mary sighed. _Aren’t we all just foolish girls?_

The two stood awkwardly at her bedside, glancing at one another, and suddenly broke down in tears. She let them smother her with hugs and kisses, and soon Mary found herself comforting them. 

Kenna came with Lola as the others were leaving. They were less expressive in their pain, but Mary appreciated this. She wanted to mourn privately, to be alone with her thoughts, and the outburst of emotion from her girls was difficult to accept. But Lola kindly delivered well wishes from other members of court, and Kenna squeezed her hand, putting more than words into the welcoming feel of nails against Mary’s flesh. Feeling anything, even physical pain reminded the Queen she wouldn’t always be numb. 

The girls slowly made their way to leave, but Lola lingered behind. “Mary,” she murmured, so the others wouldn’t hear. “Has Bash been by to see you?” 

“What?” Mary asked, in a shocked whisper. “Why would you…” 

“It’s alright, Mary. I know he’s desperate to see you again. Should I tell him it’s ok?” 

And then Mary knew she didn’t have the willpower, to deny or argue. She simply nodded at Lola, and leaned back onto the pillow in fatigue. Words were so tiring. Lola and Kenna left, and within a few minutes, Bash appeared again in the doorway. 

“I’ve had a thought, about helping you,” he said rather quickly, before she could ask. “I know. I know you want to sit here alone. And maybe I’ll grant you that kindness later.” 

He came to her side and clutched both her hands tightly. “But for now I want to make sure you won’t spiral into something you’ll regret.” 

“I’m still me, Bash. I just have so much _pain.”_

“And I want you to share it with someone else, Mary. Someone who has lived it. I was thinking, about when you found out, when you were…” he closed his eyes, not wanting to bring up the words ‘still pregnant’. He sighed. “I brought someone for you to talk to.” 

She frowned. Who did he bring…? 

Bash smiled and glanced back at the still closed door. “We have never seen eye to eye, and we will never have much to talk about. But she knows what you’ve gone through. And that’s what is important.” 

She waited, and Bash let go of her hands. He took a step backward. “You can come in now.” 

Mary watched curiously, and the door opened wide to accommodate for the skirts of the Queen of France. 

“Catherine,” Mary acknowledged. 

“Mary,” the Queen replied, nodding. 

\--

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it. I'm sorry for my agonizing slowpokedness. It's not meant to be torturing, I swear!
> 
> also my url at tumblr is different now, it's: dianevalois.tumblr.com  
> (So sorry for the people who had that 'uh-oh' moment hehe)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've ever done something like this. I hope you enjoy. I really enjoy Mary and Bash's interactions on the show since the pilot aired, so I thought I'd dabble in this. Also had to review my html knowledge, because honestly I'm not one to post much on the internet in this type of format. Please critique, comment to your heart's content. I don't usually write fan-fiction, or submit stories online when I write for fun, but since there already exists knowledge of these characters, I thought it might be interesting to read for other fans. Enjoy!


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